


a wish your heart makes

by hydrospanners



Series: renegade [33]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Docember 2018, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Pre 5.10, Seriously Though Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrospanners/pseuds/hydrospanners
Summary: Though they've been apart for years, Doc still dreams of Rea often. For once, she dreams back.





	a wish your heart makes

It’s the same thing every night. Over and over and over again, for so long now he’s lost count of the days.

 

There’s a kind of comfort in the familiarity of it, even if it leaves him aching.

 

She’s standing there like she always is, hip cocked and hands braced on the edge of a console, the only solid thing in a room that’s hazy at the edges, shifting and blurry as any mirage. He guesses that’s what this is. The illusion of an oasis in a desert that doesn’t seem to end.

 

He drinks deep of the fantasy, just like every other night. If he wakes up with a mouth full of sand, it will have been worth it.

 

He rakes his eyes over her, savoring the perfect sculpture of her body. Every dip and swell and angle, every hard edge and delicious curve. The shape of her is a study in power, the entire concept of potential energy bound up in taut muscle and soft brown skin. He’s never seen anything that left him so hungry as the sight of her.

 

“Hey there, Gorgeous,” he calls out once the sweet yearning of his desire turns to a raw-edged ache, to need. “You come here often?”

  
  
  


# # #

  
  
  


His voice shoots up her spine like electricity, setting every nerve on fire, and for a single beat of her heart, she thinks it’s real. She can feel the white-hot flames of want, the cold fingers of loss and grief and longing, the warm bloom of satisfaction. She can feel  _ him _ .

 

It feels so real. Stormier than she remembers. More confused. But it feels like  _ him _ .

 

For a heartbeat, she believes. Then Rea remembers the wages of belief, remembers who she is and the kind of life she leads. She remembers that things like this, good things--these are not the kinds of things she gets to have. Not anymore.

 

But if a fantasy is all she can have, she decides that’s what she’ll take.

 

She releases her white-knuckled grip on the console she can barely see and turns, so so slowly. Her heart races, gripped with a fear she can’t bring herself to name. That he might not be there, that he might not be the man she remembers, that she might not be the woman he does. That he might not want the woman she is now. A fear that even her fantasies might be a heartbreaking bait and switch.

 

She is so, so tired of disappointment.

 

But he is there. There, but different than she remembers. Streaks of silver are forming at his temples and the lines in his forehead are starting to cut deep. He’s older, and all his edges are harder somehow, more unyielding.

 

But then his dark eyes lock onto hers and he is all softness, melting at the seams.

 

Her heart thunders in her ears, the rush of blood deafening, swallowing her up in this feeling of want. This sensation that everything she’s been missing is really there, staring at her, waiting for her to just--If she can just--

 

“Archiban,” his name flows out of her in a rush of breath, desperate and disbelieving. Her hand reaches out, straining, hopeful. 

 

She begs any power that might be listening to let it be real.

  
  


# # #

  
  


He’s pulled into her orbit like so many times before, his skin humming with electric anticipation. Her fingers light up his nerves like stars in all the places they touch as she draws him in, closer and closer. She’s a black hole and he throws himself past her event horizon with abandon.

 

She catches him with open arms and an open mouth, smiling against his lips as their mouths collide in a sloppy, teeth-clacking kiss. She laughs into his mouth and it tastes like honey and ginger on his tongue, sweet and biting and warm. He thinks kissing her might be what kissing a sun feels like.

 

“Rea,” he breathes her name into the narrow space between their lips and she draws it eagerly into her own mouth. She is always greedy with him in these dreams, taking every part of him for herself.

 

Stars but he aches for the real thing.

 

“Miss you, Beautiful.”

  
  


# # #

  
  


His mustache tickles and scratches at her skin as she licks his words from his tongue, and she is surprised by how it leaves her tingling, by how much she’s been craving the feel of the stupid thing. By how much she wants more.

 

“You talk too much,” she whispers the words against his lips, slick and swollen from their clumsy kissing. 

 

“So shut me up,” he answers, and she can feel the way his mouth stretches into a smile beneath hers.

 

She digs one hand even deeper into the lean muscle of his back, not thinking too hard about the scars she can feel, scars she doesn’t remember being there, and drags the other out of his shirt and up into the forest of his hair. It’s as thick and silky as she remembers; she was always so weak for his hair.

 

She is drowning in the sensation of him, the taste of him, the feel of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the sound of his voice and the little hitches in his breath--The heat of her desire quickly overpowers the slow-swelling something in her heart. Rea’s smile fades from her lips and she is not gentle as she slants her mouth over his again, nipping just a little too sharply, pressing just a little too hard. She looses all of her want, rough and reckless in her greed for him.

 

He moans into her mouth, grinding against her in obvious approval. She answers in kind, hooking one leg over his narrow hips, dragging him in even closer to her center, creating friction where she is suddenly desperate for it. He answers her unspoken plea and thrusts against her, dragging his mouth across the line of her jaw, scraping her heated skin with blunt teeth and wiry hair.

 

She throws her head back and revels in the sensation. She is overwhelmed by heat and pleasure and  _ him _ and she has no intention of stopping. She is allowed to be selfish here, now, where it’s all smoke and mirrors and desire unfulfilled. She is allowed to take.

  
  


# # #

  
  


He feels the rush of her shuddering gasp, so incongruously sweet with the coarseness of his Jedi, through the tender skin of her throat, vibrating against his needy tongue.

 

He’s had this dream before, but never like this. Never this visceral. Never this  _ real _ . Part of him wonders what changed; most of him just wants more.

 

“Rea,” he pants her name into the dip of her collarbone, licking along the edge of her combat suit to the exposed swell of her trapezius. She tenses beneath his attentions and he savors the taut feeling of the muscle, relishing the perfect geometry of her, the kinetic poetry that is her body. He digs his teeth into her skin, biting down. Her whimpers are music to his ears.

 

“Archiban,” she sighs, her blunt nails digging into his scalp as she holds him there, working her sensitive neck and shoulder with his mouth. She’s never shy about asking for what she wants, and he can’t say he doesn’t love when she demands it either.

 

He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t enjoy so long as he was doing it with her.

 

He kisses the spot where he bit her tenderly, blowing a little warm air against her slick skin and leaving her gasping again. She is so responsive, so eager…

 

He wants so much of her.

 

“Rea,” he whispers her into the curve of her throat, his voice straining under the pressure of his own need. “Gorgeous. Where’s the bed?”

 

“The bed?” Her voice is breathy and high as she lifts her head to look at him, the blue of her eyes electric. The devious, daring smile that creeps across her face is one of his favorites. He wants to taste it. Wants to devour it. It’s the smile that knows it’s about to do wrong and is delighting in it. “What’s wrong with right here?”

  
  


# # #

  
  


She groans in protest as he backs away, just a little, giving himself just enough space to look at the room around them. Cavernous and filled with glowing screens and holoprojectors and computer banks and half-emptied storage crates. It’s a bit fuzzy at the edges and has a way of shifting in the corner of her eye, but she’s spent enough time in the Command Center on Odessen to recognize it, even like this. Even with most of her mind occupied by very different thoughts.

 

“Here?” He asks, frowning. Squinting, like he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at.

 

She’s aware of movement in her peripherals, of the normal bustle of Alliance business at the heart of their chaotic operation. They are not alone here; anything they do will be seen. They are already being seen if she’s any guess.

 

But this is her fantasy. She can’t really be expected to give a shit about things like decency here. She couldn’t swear she’d give a shit if this wasn’t a fantasy; if he really did walk into her little cave on Odessen, looking devastatingly handsome and smirking that smirk at her and looking at her with eyes still full of love even after all this time—

 

She wants him. Here and now and damn the rest.

 

# # #

 

“Here,” she says, with every ounce of that certainty that made him fall in love with her in the first place. 

 

He swallows, savoring the needy, mischievous glint to her eyes. This is not how the dream normally goes. This is new and thrilling and he finds himself ready to launch into this unknown with arms wide open. He finds himself eager to see what else this fantasy has in store for him.

 

The hand digging bruises into his back releases its hold, her nails dragging paths of fire across his skin as her hand slides easily beneath his pants, cupping his ass squeezing hard. She is not in a tender mood, too eager for satisfaction.

 

He loves her like this. Wanton. Ardent. Impatient. Needy.

 

For all that her heart can’t help hesitating, her body never has.

 

With one leg still hooked on his hips, she slides herself back against the console behind her, settling her ass on its slanted edge before widening her stance, guiding him closer, his body wedged between her thighs. She grinds her hips against his in a slow circular motion as she pulls at his hair, tugging his mouth back up to meet hers.

 

He follows her direction happily. He doesn’t know why the fantasy changed, doesn’t know why everything feels so different, so charged--but it’s the closest he’s felt to her in years and he is greedy for more.

 

His kiss is rough and devouring and it leaves Rea moaning into his mouth, leaves the rhythm of her hips stuttering, irregular and pushing for more. He loves how responsive she is, how bold she is about her desire, how she never hesitates to express her pleasure. He loves how he can almost taste it himself. Some kind of Force trick, he thinks, the way the electricity of their desire flows between them, the way his own veins turn to fire when he strokes her in exactly the right way.

 

It’s not a feeling his fantasy can usually capture; he relishes the sensation he’d almost forgotten.

  
  


# # #

  
  


He’s kissing her like he’s a drowning man and she’s the air. His tongue is mapping the inside of her mouth and it feels so good she doesn’t even care that he tastes like caf. Rea wants more. 

 

She whines needily when he draws his mouth away, pressing short, sweet kisses to the corners of her mouth, to the bow of her upper lip and the dip of the lower. She feels the smile on his lips as teases her, scraping his teeth against her heated, sensitive skin when she bucks her hips impatiently. “You ass,” she swears at him, half-laughing and half-panting. “I’m trying to fuck you and you’re messing around.”

 

She feels the hum of his laughter against her skin as he kisses his way across her jawline, suckling and nibbling at that tender place where her jaw meets her throat, where her blood thunders in her veins. She moans in pleasure, tipping her head back and reveling in the slick heat of his mouth and blunt scrape of his teeth.

 

“That’s more like it,” she murmurs in approval. She’s not used to being the more talkative one when they’re together, but she feels strongly that if his mouth leaves her skin for even a second she’s going to have to kick his ass.

 

She’s never been more desperate for release in her life.

 

Her nails scrape faint lines of pink into the pale, tender column of his throat as she drags her hand out of his hair and down to the front of his chest, to the concealed clasps of his shirt. She savors the silken feeling of expensive fabric, rumpled from her mistreatment and so quintessentially him… 

 

She flicks the first three clasps deftly and quickly, reaching into his now-open collar to run her hands across the sharp line of his clavicle and the lean muscle of his chest. He groans into her shoulder, biting down on the same spot as before as her fingers brush the hollow of his throat. She wants to kiss him there, wants to run her hands over ever part of him.

 

He brings one hand down from her hair to the back of her neck, drawing her closer against him as he licks and kisses and bites his way around her throat. The other he runs along the underside of her thigh, drawing the leg hooked around his hip just a little higher, adjusting the angle of their bodies until he is pressing hard against her center in  _ exactly _ the right way and-- _ Stars _ .

  
  


# # #

  
  


She swears as he grinds his hips against her, her breath hot and sweet against his ear, and he would laugh if he had any breath left in his lungs. Even in the haze of lust and need, he can’t help being delighted at how freely she wants him, how open she is to this pleasure.

 

There really is no one else in the galaxy like her. And he should know; he’s been with most of them.

 

He draws back just a little, trying not to let himself get too worked up yet, and Rea’s patience runs out. He feels the cord of muscle in her thigh tense just a breath before she moves, one quick twist of her hips that somehow spins them both around, leaving him half-seated on the slanted edge of the console and her climbing on top of him, her knee at his hip pinning him down.

 

He thrusts against her on instinct, suddenly regretting all the teasing and tasting and time he’d wasted not doing  _ this _ . 

 

“Rea,” he groans, feeling very much like a teenager getting his first taste of pleasure. He’s almost painfully aroused already, swept up in the heady swirl of sensations he’d almost forgotten after so many years. He doesn’t know why it’s coming back to him now, doesn’t know what’s changed, but it feels so much like the real thing he’s a little worried he might come in his pants if something doesn’t change soon.

 

Her hands both move to his throat, trailing their way down, just past the collar she’s opened, stroking his feverish skin as she looks directly in his eyes. He falls into the deep, oceanic blue of her stare, into the desire and the adoration and the darker things behind them. The something that almost looks like grief. 

 

It reminds him of Manaan. Of the crystalline water and its fathomless depths. Of how it felt to find a whole planet that felt like looking into her eyes. Of how she looked in the starlight. How she tasted.

 

“Archiban,” she whispers his name, drawing him back to the now. “Only one of us can fantasize here,” she says, “and I’d rather it was me. My fantasies are more fun.”

 

Before he gets the chance to ask himself how it’s possible to daydream inside your own dream, Rea is seizing the edges of his shirt with both hand. The delicate fabric rips audibly as she wrenches it open, clasps flying in every direction. 

 

His nipples are already stiff and sensitive from arousal and the rush of cool air against his skin leaves him panting and straining beneath her. Smirking, she brushes her thumbs over them as she runs her hands down his body, following the the faint pink trails of her nails with open-mouthed kisses that feel like fire against his skin.

 

She is, as usual, absolutely right. Her fantasies are so much more fun.

  
  


# # #

  
  


He smells just like she remembers, and the scent of that familiar, expensive cologne with the salty flavor of his skin is a heady combination. She’s damn near purring as she kisses her way down his belly, running her tongue along the edges of his lean muscle, tensed under tender ministrations. Scraping her teeth against scars she doesn’t remember, against the faint welts of blaster bolt burns and the pucker of--

 

Wait.

 

She draws back sharply, staring at the starburst of a wound she knows like the back of her hand. A wound she bears in her own abdomen.

 

“Who did this to you?” She traces the ragged edges of the scar with her fingers, a very different kind of fire starting to rise in her belly. It’s shoddy workmanship. Whoever patched him up--Well, she’s learned to tell the difference in a good patch job and a bad one. It must gall him to have to wear a scar like that around, like a stylist with a bad haircut. “What happened here?”

 

She raises her eyes to his, and finds a storm staring back at her. Confusion and trepidation and hope. Heartbreak. Regret.  _ Longing _ .

 

“Rea…” He breathes her name like a prayer, his voice fragile. “What is this? What’s happening? Is this--Are you--” His words seem to get stuck in his throat, and her heart breaks at the look in his eyes. A fear she hasn’t seen on him since the Emperor’s Fortress.

 

Why is she doing this to herself?

 

She kisses him deeply, not interested in words or the mire of feelings between them. Feelings that must be hers, even if she can’t explain them. 

 

She doesn’t want a mystery. She doesn’t want grief or yearning. She just wants to feel him. His body and his pleasure and his love. Just for one night. She just wants to feel happy.

 

“Just love me,” she whispers the words into his mouth, begging. “Please, Archiban. I need—“

  
  


# # #

  
  


He takes her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing the sharp edge of her jaw, and lets himself freefall into this. Into her.  _ Real _ , his heart sings in his chest. Prays, maybe. It has to be real, because he isn’t the kind of monster who would dream of her like this. 

 

He loves when she begs him for pleasure. His heart breaks to hear her begging for love.

 

Maybe this is a nightmare.

 

“I love you,” he swears, feeling the truth of it all the way down to his toes. “Even after all this, I still love you Rea. Like the wookiees. Remember?”

 

Her whole body shudders above him and he kisses her again, savoring the plush of her lips and the velvet of her tongue. She tastes of honey and ginger, just like he remembers. Sweetness and heat in equal measure.

 

She’s moaning into his mouth and her pleasure, her happiness, is so palpable it feels almost like his own. Maybe it is. Because there’s no version of her, real or imagined, that he can stand to see hurting. There’s no version of this crazy, reckless, generous, unstoppable, gentle woman that he won’t fall hopelessly in love with.

 

“I need you, Gorgeous,” he pants, breathless with desire. Not just for pleasure but for—Stars. To be  _ with _ her. To be  _ joined _ .

  
  


# # #

  
  


“You’ve got me,” she whispers, guiding his hands down her throat, to the hidden clasps at the back of her neck. He takes her meaning immediately, working them open with a practiced motion, like it hasn’t been five (or is it six now?) years since the last time he had to peel her out of this thing. She reaches between them, indulging herself in a single exploratory stroke of the swell in his pants before she flips open the latch on his belt, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder.

 

The sounds of the room around them are growing louder. Lana’s voice comes to her in a tense whisper, worried and warning. Rea can’t make out the words, but then she doesn’t want to does she? She doesn’t want anything except this moment and this feeling and this man, grinding himself against her palm because he’s no more patient for this than she is. 

 

She slaps the emergency shutter release on the console, and the rest of the world falls away. Sound and color gone, nothing left but the two of them and the storm of their desire. The rush of their love.

 

Stars but she’s in love.

 

She flings her own belt to the ground beside his, working the clasps he can’t reach while he fumbles at the latches on her greaves. She settles her center over the swell of him, grinding back and forth across the hardened length as she peels her way out of the suit. She can hardly feel him through the heavy weave, but he’s biting down on his lip, head thrown back in apparent bliss, and it’s worth waiting for her own pleasure just to see him like this. To study the graceful column of his throat and the desperate bobbing of his adam’s apple as he gasps his pleasure.

 

He whines as she slides off of him, and she laughs at the nakedness of his need. She loves him so fucking much. Loves being with him like this. Like anything. 

 

Why had she gotten on that fucking ship? If she hadn’t—

 

“Rea,” he pleads, reaching for her.

 

She tuts at him, swatting his hands away. “I want to see you first,” she says, hooking her hands in the band of his pants, savoring the familiar silken texture of the underwear beneath. She removes them both in a single tug, kicking them away as they fall into a pile at her feet.

 

He shrugs his arms out of his torn shirt, tossing it over the side of the console and props himself up on his elbows, happy to display himself for her. His eyes follow her gaze hungrily, and she can see the way her attention makes him swell and twitch with delight. It pleases his vanity to be looked at. To be appreciated like this.

 

And she does appreciate him. The lean cords of muscle and delicate ivory skin. The sharp edge of his shoulders, the narrow line of his hips. Those long, elegant fingers. The swollen cock, blush pink and arched with desire.

 

She licks her lips, feeling her own arousal pooling between her legs. She wants to taste him, wants to turn him to putty with her lips and tongue and hands. Wants to sink her fingers in the taut muscle of his ass and hear the way he keens as she swallows him down.

 

But this isn’t the time. It’s been too long, too many unspoken words hang in the air between them—

 

They need to be together. Now.

  
  


# # #

  
  


His attention dances between the hunger in her eyes and the shape of her body as she peels her way out of that combat suit. 

 

It’s not the same body he remembers. He’s dreamt this dream so many times, cherished the lingering memories of it so often--He can’t help noticing the puckered scar in her side, a mangled, ugly complement to the one in his own, that wasn’t there five years ago. Can’t help cataloguing all the other puffy, shining scars he doesn’t recognize, with stories he doesn’t know. Can’t help but frown at how lean she is, how hard. 

 

His hands seek out the curve of her waist, narrower than he remembers, his thumbs brushing over the tight bands of muscle and the pronounced ribs. She’s always been fit, always been sculpted like a testament to the beauty of human anatomy. This is different. This is corded muscle and sharp-edged bone, with no softness between. This is the shape of deprivation. Of neglect.

 

If this is just a dream, he won’t forgive himself for imagining her like this. For  _ wanting _ her like this. But if it isn’t--If he dares to hope--

 

He almost hopes it isn’t real. He doesn’t want to think of her as this battered shadow of the vibrant woman he remembers. The woman who thoroughly enchanted him without ever trying. The woman he married. The woman he loves.

 

He can’t stand the thought of her wasting away under the weight of her burdens. Of her carrying the galaxy on her shoulders without anyone to share the load. Of her without a crew who cared enough to make her sit down and eat every now and again.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” she whispers, and he looks up to find her eyes swimming with sorrow and regret and grief. “You know that’s not my kink, Archiban.”

 

He smiles, a little half-heartedly but real enough. Relishes the way her muscles stretch and pull beneath his fingers as she hitches her knee back up against his hip. Relishes the heat of her. “I love you.”

 

“I know,” she says, and she’s smiling too. She braces her arms on either side of him, pressing her naked body against his. The feel of her, the whole of her, pressed against him, fevered skin to fevered skin--He shudders, his stomach freefalling, his knees going weak. He slides his hands around her waist and down, down,  _ down _ until his fingers are digging into the taut muscles of her ass, his hands full of her.

 

It’s the best ass in the galaxy. He should know; he’s handled just about all of them.

  
  


# # #

  
  


She slides herself along the length of him, savoring the sweet hint of friction and the way he trembles beneath her, the way she can feel his groan roll up out of his chest. She slips against him again, coating his length in the slickness of her own arousal, laughing as he mumbles blissful curses beneath her.

 

If things were different, if she didn’t know he’d be gone when she woke, she’d take her time. Tease them both some more, work them into a proper frenzy. She’d savor every single sensation, let it really bloom.

 

But things aren’t different and she can’t wait. She can’t be sure how long this will last before her body stirs her from this dream.

 

She runs her thumb across the slick underside of him, stroking the velveteen skin, exploring the familiar topography of hardened muscle and swollen veins. He whimpers as she circles the ridge of his head and she is nearly dripping with her ache for this. She runs her hand down the length of him again, his shuddering breath the sweetest song she’s ever heard, and guides him to the entrance of her.

 

His eyes flutter open as her folds brush against the tip of him. She moves her other hand to his chest, her palm over his frantically beating heart. His gaze is dark and intense, wanting, adoring. She can feel the way he loves her, the heat and the depth of it, even now, even after all this time, and it feels almost--It feels--

 

Stars.

 

She holds his gaze, holds his heart in her hand, as she takes him inside herself. Lowers her hips slowly, taking her time to enjoy every sensation as he slides between her walls, opening her up and filling her. Her nerves light up one by one, a brilliant burst of light and pleasure as they join, coming together in just the right way, at just the right angle, until the tip of him is brushing the most delicious part inside of her.

 

“Fuck,” she swears, dropping some of her weight onto him, her shoulders curving forward as she lets the sensation sweep through her. Her pleasure and his pleasure, crashing together. Bowling her over like the sweetest wave. Every place where they are joined, where their skin whispers together, is heat and electricity and wanting. She can feel his desire as clearly as her own, can feel the blood pumping from his chest with all the aching heat of her own.

 

For the first time in so long, she isn’t alone.

  
  


# # #

  
  


She clenches around him, teeth sinking deep into her lower lip and he’s almost on the edge already. Staring into her eyes, barely remembering to breathe as she rolls her hips, swallowing him up in sensations of heat and friction and pressure. 

 

It’s nothing like any dream he’s had before.

 

_ Not a dream, _ his mind whispers.  _ Real _ .

 

She’s smiling that wicked smile, the one she wore the first time she mentioned how Jedi have perfect control over every muscle in their bodies, and-- _ Fuck _ . Five years have done  _ nothing _ to erode even a bit of that control, he realizes. She is gripping him tightly, surrounding him in the sweetest pressure, as she lifts her hips. The friction is delicious, and the slick sounds between them leave his heart pounding. He digs his fingers into her ass, encouraging her movements as she slides slowly up, up, up, until he is nearly slipping from her folds and then slowly, so torturously slowly she is sliding down, and he can’t ever remember anything feeling quite as good as being joined with her.

 

He needs more.

 

He drags a hand from her ass, sweeping up her back and tangling in the tousled mess of her hair, drawing her down to kiss the wicked smile from her lips. He pants his pleasure into her mouth as she moves, her hips rolling as she rises and falls in long, slow strokes. It’s a delicious torment that has him craving more friction, more speed, more of her slickness and heat. More of her.

 

It’s the greatest test of his will to hold his hips steady, to keep from rising up to meet her, to keep from chasing the rapture of her walls tight around him, to let her take her pleasure at her own pace.

 

“Rea,” her name escapes him in a groan. He runs his other hand across the curve of her hip, tracing the hard edge of her pelvic bone, feeling the flex of muscle as she rides him. He wishes he could see her like this from every angle at once. (A voice in the back of his mind whispers that if this was just a dream, he could. That the rules only apply to things that are real, not fancies of his imagination.)

 

He swallows thickly, drawing back so he can watch her, so he can drink all of her in as his hand falls into the space between them, to the place where they are joined.

  
  


# # #

  
  


Her whole body trembles as liquid fire pours through every one of her nerves. She is gasping and unsteady on her feet, her knees trembling and toes curling at the rush of white-hot pleasure. 

 

“Stars,” she breathes. And even though she knows her own body like she knows how to draw air, even though she is the expert in her own pleasure… The brush of his thumb against her clit, gently stroking at the edges, is so much better than anything she’s felt in ages. “More,” she pants, even though she isn’t sure her overheated, hypersensitive body can take it. This is all happening so fast, too fast, but she doesn’t want to slow down.

 

She doesn’t want to lose her chance at falling over the edge with him. Just one more time.

 

Rea picks up the pace, rocking her hips faster, the contraction of her muscles turning erratic as he draws little circles around the exposed bundle of her nerves. She feels electric, like there are galaxies bursting to life just beneath her skin. Like every touch, every sensation is too much and not enough all at the same time.

 

She looks down at him, into eyes almost black with desire, and finds Archiban watching her with a look that’s as reverent as it is smug. She can feel the delight rolling off of him, the satisfaction of smashing through her control, of turning her into such a needy mess. She can feel how he revels in her pleasure almost as much as she does.

 

Rea lets her hips fall, lets him sink deep inside her, rolling her hips desperately to feel the ridges of him against the most sensitive places of her. They moan and sigh and swear together, the sounds of their pleasure jumbling between them as she races to the edge. He is rolling her clit more roughly, more urgently, and her vision is going white with the thrill of it.

 

“Gorgeous,” he whispers, breathless and halfway to wrecked. “Rea. Please.”

  
  


# # #

  
  


With one arm wrapped around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh of his thigh, she lifts him. Lifts both of them, still joined, and hisses at the feel of the new angle, at the friction of him inside her. 

 

Rea eases them backward, crawling over him once they are settled on the level top of of the console, folding her legs on either side of his hips. She kisses him again, hot and urgent. “Fuck me,” she rasps the words against his lips. “Fuck me, Archiban. I want to come with you.”

 

He reaches back with one arm, planting his palm and his feet firmly against the console, bracing himself. She rises above him on her knees, her walls holding him tight, squeezing deliciously as he slides out of her.

 

He thrusts. She lowers her hips to meet his.

 

Again. Again and again. 

 

They are moving together and every part of him is electrified, dissolving in the white-hot heat of her depths. He rubs at her clit, rolls it with his thumb, squeezes it between his fingers, touching her frantically, desperate for the feel of her quivering, pulsing around him.

 

“Rea,” he groans, his voice strangled and rough. “You feel--”

 

“Fuck,” she answers in a whine, the sound of it building as she draws the word out. “Archiban. Stars.”

 

Again and again and again. His hand on her ass, driving her down. Her hand on his back, leveraging him up. Again and again. Moving in harmony, riding waves of molten bliss.

 

Her head falls back in pleasure, and without the magnetic pull of her eyes to draw him in, he raises his mouth to her breast, pert and full and bouncing as she rises and falls, riding him. He savors the salt on his tongue as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, circling the hardened nub of it, grazing with his teeth. Savoring the way she moans his name. How her voice surrounds him and vibrates through him, throaty and loud as she babbles nonsense encouragements.

 

Rea’s hand winds into his hair, gripping fiercely as he nips and tugs, moving his mouth to lavish her other breast in the same rough attention. “More,” she says, as much as plea as a command. “Harder, Archiban. Harder. I’m almost--” 

 

The words catch in her throat. He’s thrusting faster, harder, deeper, her hips following his rhythm, dipping and rising to match his frantic pace. His fingers fall out of time on her clit,  frantic and pressing harder and pinching tighter, giving her what he knows she needs to get over the edge. He needs her to come. He won’t make it long like this, with her tight and slick and moving so fast--With the friction so good--

 

Again and again and again and again and--

 

There.  _ There _ .

 

He leans back to watch it happen. To watch Rea gasp, strangled and loud, over and over and quivering around him, her core pulsing, her body shuddering, dripping with the slickness of her pleasure. “Don’t stop,” she tells him, her voice tight, her hips still rolling, still dipping to meet his. She holds his eyes, her gaze intense, and says it again. “Don’t stop.” She is trembling with ecstasy, riding the waves of her climax. She is so fucking beautiful. “I want to feel you.”

 

It doesn’t take long. He loses his rhythm quickly, needy and wanton as he takes his pleasure. As he races to join her over the edge. Everything inside him tight and throbbing, aching for release. 

 

“Come on, Handsome,” she urges him, her hands touching him everywhere, her walls still spasming deliciously around him. “Come on. Come for me. Come for me, Archiban.”

 

Breathless and gasping, he peaks.

  
  


# # #

  
  


For one second, bright and shining and hot as a sun, Rea knows what it is to join with the Force. She is flowing, bending, shifting. She is everywhere and nowhere. She is harmony. She is light.

 

Archiban is still moving inside her. Easing her back down with slow, gentle strokes. Gasping for air as he clutches at her back, his face buried between her breasts.

 

It feels like an ending and she isn’t ready to let him go.

 

“I love you,” she says, bending to whisper the words against his ear. Nipping at the lobe. “I love you so much and I can’t stand doing this without you. I need you, Archiban.”

 

The muscles of his core tighten beneath her as he shifts, drawing out another sigh as he settles inside her. He presses his palms to her cheeks, drawing her head back so he can look into her eyes. When he speaks, his voice is soft, still a little tight and breathy, but certain as hell. Confident. “You don’t need me, Rea. I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but I know you. I know what you can do. I know there’s nothing in the galaxy that can stop you.”

 

Her eyes are stinging with tears and she’s never cried with a man still inside her before, but this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve broken new ground together. She lets herself fall against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and his back, burying her face in his neck.

 

No orgasm could ever compare to this. To the feeling of his love, of the unwavering belief vibrating inside him, reaching out for her. Nothing in the galaxy could compare to the way he is filling up her heart.

 

“It’s okay,” he croons into her hair. “It’s okay. It’s just me. I’m here.”

 

“But you aren’t,” she croaks, her throat closing around the words. “You aren’t and I miss you. I want you back.”

 

Archiban pulls away, loosening her hold on him just a little. Just enough to take her by the chin. To unravel her with a languid kiss, so full of tenderness and adoration she thinks she might burst. 

 

Her cheeks are damp with her tears when they part, when he rests his forehead against hers and sighs. 

 

“Just hang in there, Rea. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other soon.”

  
  



End file.
